Big Hero Socks
by xXxYukihoVantasxXx
Summary: Heathcliffe does laundry.


Freds house is very large. He's been all the rooms. EXCEPT _**ONE**__... _LAUNDRY ROOM!1 Poor Gred as never heard of a washing machine, his clothes haven't been washed in a year, the only reason they were washed es because hathcliff stoled his clothes while he was sleep! One fateful night after fred had changed into his pyjamas- which was just inside-out undywear- and was fast aslep in his bed, leaving it to be an opportune moment for heathclaf to SNATCH tEh Closthes?! Heatcliffe noticed a terrible yet arousing stench emenating from Frogs room. The aroma came out in visible wisps of filthy temptress talons that beckoned heathcliffe's raging boner.

He gently opened the door of fred's room so as not to wake him and was instantly drawn to the disgusting pile of fabric in the corner of his room, which smelled like motor oil dipped in skunk spray with a hint of sweat. Heathcliff piced up sock with only finger and thumb, it was moist. The damp stench of the sock only made his dick harder. He couldn't bear it any longer, he had to whip out his dick.

Unceremoniously, Heathcliff dropped to his knees and getly guided his love meat into the warm soft orifice of fred's sock. The juices only made him harder. He was already precum, moistening the sock moister and squishier. Heathcliffe's lips pursed tightly, for if he made a sound, he may awake the prince of filth. He bit his lower lip hard to keep from screaming in ecstasy, his moustach quivering like a young gal's titties as she gambols down the stairs. But it wasn't enough. Heathcliff's hidden trashy fantasies could be fulfilled, he needed more. With his free hand, heathcliffe grabbed a mismatched sock and pressed it to his nose and reveled in the squalor of fred's essence. His eyes rolled back into his skull, his dick twitching in delight as he orgasmed into the first sock. Heatclif collapsed into the pile of dirty clothes, festering with germs and god knows what else. His cum flooded from the sock, pouring out of the sides and soiling the already tarnished attire.

After he composed himself, he picked up the pile of clothes and tiptoed his way out of fred's room and into the londry room. But the stench was still to much for him, and so when he got to the laundry room, he removed his pants, he was ready for _**ROUND TWO.**_

Thin fingers grasped for Fred's sacred beanie, the other grasped his midnight meat train. The wool scratched lightly at his delicate flesh, turning him on more than he had ever experienced before, but the article was nowhere near the hub of arousal. Heatclef bent over the laundry maching and happily unclenched his buttocks. He was ready. Taking the sock previously used for his twisted pleasures, dripping with his dna love life fluids, he began to ensert the sock into his undulating love hole. The beanie was coiled tightly around heathcliff's weiner, strangling his sex rifle. He was already on the brink of his second orgasm.

Now hidden within a room out of earshot, Hatclep opened his mouth wide, back careening and and moaning wildly. His anus clenched happily around the offering it was given, and yet the tip alone was enveloped by his assmuscles. He slowly slithered the slimy sock into his sacrosanct sexhole. He was on the brink of coming as his asshairs were tickled by the sock. He pumped harder, moaning his young master's name over and over again, it became his mantra, his chant to the gods as he begged gutterally for sweet, sweet erotic release. Shakily, he reaches for the dial of the washing machine, turning it on, then slowly opens the door. As if on cue, he flipped off the beanie and let his cummies fly. And fly they did. In a white stream arched perfectly into the machine, it's open doorway acting as a hungry mouth devouring such delicious cock yogurt. Time slowed down for heathcliffe, he watched his love liquids spew into the gaping hole and swirl madly with the water. As he began to ease out of orgasm, he placed clothing piece one after another in the machine, hiding the evidence of his dastardly deed, a smug grin upon his lips beneath his moustache. He loved laundry day.


End file.
